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Manor!’ cried Cicely.
    ‘Exactly what I said.’
    ‘And?’ asked Cicely.
    ‘And,’ said Mrs Murgatroyd with heavy emphasis, ‘he looked at me as though I were the world’s worst busybody and told me it would not be convenient.’
    ‘This is too bad,’ said Cicely with a frown. ‘I must confess, when I sold the Manor, it never occurred to me that the new owner might not want it to be used for village events.’
    ‘Well, Miss Haringay, what are you going to do?’
    ‘I’m not sure . . . ’ Cicely had been about to say that she was not sure there was anything she could do, particularly as she had no wish to visit the Manor, but the thought of all the children who would be disappointed if she did not act stirred her spirit. ‘You’re right, Mrs Murgatroyd, I must do something. I must make Mr Evington realize that he bought the lord of the Manor’s responsibilities along with the Manor.’
    She thought of his mocking smile and she found herself looking forward to the battle.
    ‘Ah! That’s the idea,’ said Mrs Murgatroyd.
    Cicely nodded. ‘In fact, I will go this very afternoon.’

Chapter Three
     
    Cicely dressed herself for the third time since luncheon. She had tried on two outfits already, but neither of them had looked impressive enough. If she was going to see Mr Evington at the Manor then she needed to be looking her imposing best. She had accepted the offer of Mrs Murgatroyd’s maid for the afternoon, and Molly had laced her into a corset to give her figure a fashionable S-shape.
    Over her camisole, drawers and corset she put on two petticoats, followed by a blouse with a high collar and long sleeves, decorated with pin tucks down the front and a trim of lace at the yoke. Then she stepped into her long blue skirt, which was adorned at the hem with silk braid and lace. Once settled over the petticoats it stood out at the bottom, taking on the required shape of a bell.
    ‘Shall I do your hair, miss?’ asked Molly.
    ‘Yes, please,’ said Cicely. She sat down so that Molly could reach her dark tresses.
    Although Cicely had become adept at arranging her own hair into a pompadour style over the last few years, with the hair swept back from her face and then pinned over pads to give it its distinctive roll, she had to admit that Molly arranged it far better than she could ever do. There were no loose tendrils when Molly arranged it as there were when she did it herself, and no hint of unevenness in the shape.
    Then, too, with Molly arranging her hair, she could indulge in a more elaborate style. This afternoon, whilst most of her hair was piled on top of her head, one long swathe was left loose, falling down the side of her face and spilling across her blouse.
    All in all, as she slipped into her bolero jacket, pinned her feathered hat onto her hair and picked up her lace-trimmed parasol, she felt ready to face a dozen Mr Evingtons. Let him laugh at her this time if he dared!
    And then she was ready to go.
    ‘Mrs Murgatroyd says I’m to stay and help you undress again, if you wish it,’ said Molly.
    ‘Oh, yes, please, Molly,’ said Cicely. ‘That would be very kind.’
    ‘You look lovely, miss,’ said Molly. ‘Mr Evington won’t be able to say no to you, I’m sure.’
    Thanking Molly for this vote of confidence - which she had the uncomfortable feeling she would need! - Cicely set out.
    The day was fine, and the walk was pleasant. Turning right out of the Lodge gates she headed up the drive, walking between the sweeping lawns that had been her mother’s pride and joy.
    It cost her more than one pang to approach the Manor, not as its owner, but as a visitor. It was less than a week since she had moved into the Lodge, and it was still too soon for her to feel that she really belonged there, as she still felt she belonged at the Manor. But she pushed those feelings aside and she concentrated instead on the freshness of the air, which was rich with the scent of new-mown grass, and the sky,